


The Tablecloth

by LittleSilverBirds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crack, Gen, M/M, THIS IS A M E S S, literally dont even look at me, this is my editors fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 05:37:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16278734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSilverBirds/pseuds/LittleSilverBirds
Summary: Shiro is a tablecloth





	The Tablecloth

**Author's Note:**

> This needs explaining. Unfortunately I dont have a good explanation.  
> Long story short my editor is never getting to request anything ever again. Ever. Never. E V E R.

It could be worse. By worse, he meant he could’ve been perpetually trapped in something like a trash can or a paper plate. It could’ve been better too, however. He could have been trapped in, say, the black lion. That would’ve been nice.

But instead, he was trapped in a fucking tablecloth.

That’s right, a tablecloth.

To make matters worse no one, absolutely no one, seemed to think the sudden disappearance of one Shiro and the sudden appearance of one tablecloth was suspicious. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, it was just him, his internal monologue, and whatever was placed on him that particular day.

He was actually glad when Keith moved him into his house. He was alone 90% of the day, Keith was out from 8am till late most days, but some weekends he was around. Sometimes he was gone for a long, long time and dust settled on him before he got back. But he was a paladin, of course he’d be gone, and of course he couldn’t do anything about it.

Again. He was a fucking tablecloth.

On his days off Keith put mugs on him that would have burned if he wasn’t a fucking tablecloth and smelled like coffee. Honestly he couldn’t figure out how he could smell anything because, in case he hadn’t been clear enough, he was a fucking tablecloth. It wasn’t all bad, though. He had a lot of free time now, which he would have used for something useful if he wasn’t immobile and mute. Instead he just sat there basically spying on Keiths life. He learned that he liked his coffee strong and hotter than the fires of hell. He also learned about his trash music taste, which he knew Lance would definitely use for blackmail if he knew about it. And that he was a mannerless heathen who put his boots on the table. He couldn’t fucking believe he fantasized about moving in with this monster. Well, he kind of had moved in. He just lived on his coffee table perpetually.

* * *

 

It took Shiro about three hours to realise he wasn’t a tablecloth anymore. Obviously he milked it, pretended he couldn’t see the 6ft tall man lying perfectly still in his underwear on the coffee table. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling. And he didn’t make a single sound. At one point he thought he’d stopped breathing, but the fruit bowl on his chest slowly rose and fell to let him know he was still alive. No he was letting this drag out for a while, because Shiro had enough embarrassing Keith moments filed away on record. He was allowed this one time where Mr Perfect was off his game.

Plus it wasn’t overly awful to look at, and he didn’t seem to notice him standing in the doorway to the living room just watching him with his coffee. He even took out his phone to snap a couple of pictures, and one video obviously, to send to the team to let them know he "found" Shiro. He found him months ago, pretty much as soon as the tablecloth turned up. Hence he took the first chance he got to abduct him. Honestly, Coran wanted to wear him, Lance thought he was a rug and Hunk wanted to use him as a rag in the kitchen. Decorating his coffee table wasn’t the worst fate, he thought.

The fun wore off around lunchtime, and he went and made two drinks. One of coffee, which he really, really missed when they were off being big hero paladins, and one of green tea for Takashi “My body is a temple” Shirogane. If he was feeling wild he’d even put honey in it. When he got back Shiro was still there, still staring at the ceiling, the fruit still bobbing up and down with his breathing. He put the green tea and coffee both down on the side table with the lamp and sat down to wake him up.

“Shiro you’re not a tablecloth anymore,” he said after another couple of minutes, and the man jumped out of his skin, apples and oranges went rolling across the floor as he shot up into a sitting position. He blinked like he was coming out of a dream, looking around the room and eventually focusing on the phone in his hand. Keith wasn’t looking at Shiro, rather the phone screen and his image on that instead.

“I’m…” he paused, frowning at the phone, “Are you filming me?”

“Yes,” he sat back and stopped the video, making sure he saved it before sending it to everyone but Lance.

“You’re sending that to everyone aren’t you?”

“Also yes,” he patted the free couch next to him, inviting him over for a comfier seat and his tea, “Welcome back.”

He made some sort of grumpy sound and sat down heavily next to him, but accepted the tea without much complaint. It was good to have him back, he was starting to miss him. He didn’t seem to notice his arm was missing, it was in its crate in the bedroom. He’d moved most of Shiros stuff here after he “disappeared” assuming he still wanted to move in. Keith still wanted him anyway, it was getting old trying to decide whose room they were hiding in that night and sneaking around to avoid a weird Altean dad-lecture from Coran and a boss-lecture from Allura on how it was unprofessional to be skulking back to their own rooms at 4am and they should know better.

“How did you know?” he asked after a while, resting the mug on his thigh. “No one else figured it out.”

It was a good question, and fair enough of him to ask, but he couldn’t help but smirk to himself as all the shocked replies started coming in on the group chat. Because the answer was relatively simple, and even Pidge didn’t get it so he was feeling pretty good about himself.

“No one else read the label.”


End file.
